Gabriel: Lord of Regrets (16 page)

“Common sense often prevails when people have had a chance to cool off.”

“But cool off about what?” Kettering hunched forward, leaning his weight on his hands. “There isn’t a single bet on the club books, not a rumor to be found, not a second willing to gossip.”

“You’re sure they met?”

“All three times, yes, and shots were fired, and seconds present, and so forth, but not one word about what the underlying challenge entailed.”

“Do you suppose my brother has a mistress?”

“He doesn’t,” Kettering said. “I see all the money, and none of it is going to any lightskirt.”

“Remind me never to cross you.”

“Well, cheer up.” Kettering smiled, a frighteningly chipper expression. “Just as soon as we figure out who wants you dead, what your brother is hiding, and how to keep you safe from Lady Hartle’s schemes, your troubles will be over.”

“You forgot the most important matter.” Gabriel paused with a hand on the door latch, because Kettering had taken the pencil from behind his ear, and Gabriel did not want to murder the best solicitor in the realm.

Kettering considered that pencil, then shot Gabriel a curious look. “The title? That shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“I didn’t say it would be cheap.” Kettering’s smile was nowhere in evidence. “Once we clear up these other matters, I’ll look into it in greater depth.”

“I couldn’t care less how long Aaron sports the title,” Gabriel said. “He’s growing into it nicely, though he’s still feuding with our steward too often.”

“So if it isn’t the title,” Kettering said, “what’s your greatest remaining challenge?”

“The lady. The greatest and most worthy challenge is the lady, and how to make her safely and permanently mine.”

“You were worried about Soldier,” Gabriel said, “while it’s your mount who seems to be tiring.”

Aaron’s horse half slipped, half shied itself nigh into the ditch.

“If certain horses didn’t spend the first three miles from Town dancing around and spooking at every passing bonnet, then certain horses wouldn’t be so damned tired when we’re still three miles from home.” Aaron’s testiness and fatigue showed in his tone of voice, which had the same horse tossing its head and switching its wet tail.

“We could borrow a mount from a neighbor,” Gabriel suggested. “You know you want to get off and walk the silly blighter. I’d walk with you. Soldier shouldn’t be abused simply because he has more sense.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not.” Gabriel swung down, grateful not to have to admit his back was screaming at him to get out of the saddle. Their stay in London had been marked by cold, rain, and a house staff caught unused to having anybody to look after. He’d gone days without having a truly hot soak.

Or smelling freshly baked sweets.

“So what did we learn, Gabriel, on our sojourn up to Gomorrah?”

“We learned your horse is town-shy, much as I’ve become.”

“I noticed you stuck close to home.” Their boots squishing in the mud made a wet counterpoint to the hooves doing likewise directly behind them.

“As did you, baby Brother.”

“And you wrote to Miss Hunt.”

“While you couldn’t be bothered to send along a single word to your wife,” Gabriel noted airily. “She’s likely worried, Aaron.”

“And Kettering didn’t exactly scoff at the notion one should be worried,” Aaron rejoined. Gabriel let a silence take root, until, a quarter of a mile later, Aaron spoke again.

“You’re right. I should have written to my wife. What did you have to say to Miss Hunt?”

“I passed along some greetings from a mutual friend.”

Gabriel could tell Aaron was itching to ask how a portrait artist and an earl-turned-land-steward could have a mutual friend, but it took another quarter mile.

“You know her from before?” Aaron asked, gaze on the dripping brown hedgerows on either side of the road.

“I do. We were not involved, if that’s what you’re thinking.” In love with a woman was not the same thing as involved with her.

“Involved.” Aaron pursed his lips, petted his tired horse’s neck, fiddled with the reins he was leading the animal by, and then glanced at his brother. “Is that how a land steward refers to swiving a decent young woman toward whom he has no marital aspirations?”

The silence this time lasted about eight steps of muddy boots. “Grown puritanical in my absence, Aaron?”

“Until such time as you resume the title, Miss Hunt is under my protection, isn’t she? And she’s the first thing like a real friend I’ve seen in Marjorie’s life. You weren’t a choirboy before you went to Spain, Gabriel, but you played by the usual rules.”

“I learned to, and your unwillingness to mention the cost of my education is appreciated. Miss Hunt and I were not involved, make of that what you will, and were I to offer for her—again—she would not have me.”
Yet.

Not silence, but rather Aaron’s eyebrows risen in surprise. “You
offered
for her? When you were merely a land steward?”

“Merely a land steward,” Gabriel said. “She didn’t hold that against me, any more than she’d be impressed with my title. Miss Hunt has seen most of the capitals and courts of Europe, as well as many works of the great masters in the original.”

“She’s different,” Aaron concluded. “Sophisticated in some regards, unassuming in others. Also very competent in the kitchen.”

And the bedroom, and the library. “Well put, and she’s stubborn. I tried to tell her it wasn’t safe to be at Hesketh until we’d figured out who tried to kill me, and she pretty much read me the Riot Act.”

“Did she raise her voice?”

“Not in the least.” Gabriel sloshed along. “She politely gave me leave to consider that if I were so concerned about the safety of my loved ones, perhaps I ought to be taking myself off to distant parts, rather than ordering others from my presence.”

“But you did that,” Aaron said. “For two years you were on the South Downs, herding sheep or bullocks or something.”

Gabriel endured a wave of cold, muddy homesickness—for the sheep, the bullocks, and that padded chair in Polly’s kitchen. “We raised a little of everything, because it was an old-fashioned estate and intended to be self-supporting.”

“And was it?”

It had certainly supported Gabriel. “When I left, it was on its way to thriving, though by then it had acquired a competent owner who was both knowledgeable and committed to the land.”

“You’re right; it takes both.” Aaron’s horse took a slippery step but righted itself easily enough. “I was committed but knew exactly bugger all about the land.”

“You’ve managed well, better than I would have.”

“George plays games with me,” Aaron said. “He wants me to fall on my own sword, as if I’m a little boy and can learn only by his silent, disapproving example.”

“George is more tired of his job than he knows. He’s been doing it so long he no longer brings fresh ideas to it.”

“But one can’t approach it thus,” Aaron rejoined. And for the next two miles, Gabriel was treated to a surprisingly impassioned diatribe on stewardship of the land and modern agriculture and the necessity of innovation if one was to go on profitably.

All from a man who professed to know little about the subject.

They were halfway up the drive, the elegant and imposing facade of the manor before them, when Soldier’s back foot slipped in the mud. The horse threw up his head in a bid for balance, and Gabriel’s arm was jerked out and up, because his fingers were nigh frozen around the reins. Aaron plodded a few steps farther before pausing and eyeing Soldier, who had come to a rock-steady halt. “The old boy isn’t turning up balky now, is he?”

“No.” Not the four-legged old boy.

“Well, are we to stand out here until the heavens open up again? I’m for a hot bath, myself, and some of that baking one can hope Miss Hunt has gotten up to, and perhaps even a… Gabriel?”

“Bloody, benighted fuck.”

“Your back?”

Gabriel managed a nod. A careful nod. Aaron blew out a breath, tied up the reins on the horses, then sent both beasts trotting the last distance toward their long-awaited stables.

“Can you get an arm around my shoulders?”

“The left one,” Gabriel said, because even long words would hurt unnecessarily. It took slow, cautious movement on both their parts, but Aaron soon had Gabriel hobbling toward the house.

“Marjorie is going to blame me for this,” Aaron muttered. “And she’ll be half-right. Could we stop at an inn and warm up? Why no, of course not, because Gabriel Wendover was on campaign, anxious to tell my dear wife we’ve learned exactly nothing, for all we’ve spent a delightful week in the stinking, filthy hog wallow of Town. But will he listen to me when I suggest we might wait for more salubrious weather to make this journey?”

“Aaron.” Gabriel’s voice was little more than a whisper. “It’s all right. I won’t fall into a swoon, and I won’t die from this.”

“You might,” Aaron said darkly. “When I get done scolding you for your pigheadedness, and Marjorie gets done scolding
me
for your pigheadedness.”

Gabriel’s lips quirked, despite the pain and the mud and the cold and the fact that he’d scared his little brother badly. “We’re in for it now. It’s fortunate that my back will come to rights with some heat and rest.”

“You’re sure?”

“It always has before.”

“Marjorie will still kill me.”

***

“Any grouchy old cripples hereabouts?” Aaron asked as he waltzed into Gabriel’s room, a tray balanced on his hip.

Polly snatched a pillow from Gabriel’s hand. “Don’t throw that. Aaron’s carrying hot soup and hot tea on that tray, of which you will partake, sir.”

Aaron appeared vastly entertained by Polly’s high-handedness. Well, so was Gabriel, or he would be, if the murderous pain in his back weren’t making humor impossible.

“You will leave us, Miss Hunt,” Gabriel said. “My thanks for your kind wishes, but my brother can be trusted to make sure I eat my pudding.”

Polly shot a dismissive look at Aaron. “He cannot. He’s your brother, and siblings are ever willing to conspire with each other.”

“I can,” Aaron said, “because it’s delicious, and the only stops we made coming down from Town were to rest the horses, so yonder old man will be nigh starving.”

Gabriel barely got out a muttered, “Now you’ve done it,” before Polly was off, ranting about two idiot men and it must be bred into them and this was why sensible people went traveling in the summer and why did she ever think…

“Bother the both of you.” She marched toward the door. “I am going to have a soothing cup of chocolate with Lady Marjorie, and we are going to lament the Creator’s missteps with his practice model.”

“The male of the species,” Gabriel supplied in her absence. “The Creator, in Miss Hunt’s opinion, is subject to all the trials of any other artist, requiring practice models and initial sketches and so forth. The donkey is the initial sketch of the horse, in her theology.”

“Interesting.” Aaron pulled a hassock over closer to the fire and put the tray on it. “Interesting that you’ve debated theology with the portrait artist.”

“One doesn’t debate with Polonaise Hunt; one listens attentively and takes notes. Is that chicken stew?”

“Marjorie said Miss Hunt was in a cooking mood today because it was too dreary to paint. It smells delicious.” They consumed every single thing on the tray in the concentrated, appreciative silence of tired, hungry men, and the tub was full and steaming by the fireside by the time they were finished.

Aaron rose and frowned down at his brother. “I’m not going to ask how you managed this sort of problem when you were a mere land steward.”

“Carefully.” Gabriel scooted to the edge of his seat, pushed gingerly to his feet, then made himself stand, mentally beating back the pain—and the memory of Mr. Danner, effecting the same maneuver far more smoothly.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Uncomfortable.”

Aaron walked him over to the tub. “Why in the hell can’t you take a tot of the poppy?”

“And have whoever wishes me ill know I’m completely incapacitated?”

Gabriel fell silent for long, teeth-gritting moments while they got him into the tub. “I’ll be in this tub until spring,” he declared. “Is there any more of that tea?”

“Of course.” Aaron shifted to fix his brother a cup, then dragged the dressing stool over to the tub. “Can you manage in there, or do you need assistance?”

“I need to soak.” Gabriel leaned back and closed his eyes. “It’s good and hot, a little bit of heaven.”

When the water began to cool, Aaron saw to the washing of his hair and did the honors with the rinse water. Getting Gabriel out of the tub was easier than getting him into it.

“You’re not to get into the bed until I use the sheet warmer,” Aaron cautioned.

“Don’t forget to warm the pillows as well, else General Hunt will have a court-martial.”

“She’s worried for you. It’s sweet.”

Also improper as hell for Polonaise to be in his bedroom at any hour, much as it pleased him that she’d fuss over him. “You like seeing me scolded like a puppy who’s made a puddle in the front hallway.”

“I truly do.” Aaron eased him onto the bed. “You said Miss Hunt refused you. She’s not acting like a woman indifferent to your situation now.”

Gabriel went still in the act of pulling the comforter up over his lap. “She isn’t, is she? Ah, well, she has a big heart, does Polonaise. She feels for creatures too stupid to stay out of the rain, and if I’m not mistaken, I hear the footsteps of her invading army.”

A knock verified the evidence of Gabriel’s ears.

“I’m back,” she said, striding into the room, several footmen behind her. They dipped buckets to empty the tub, quickly, silently, and were soon wheeling the thing from the room, the door left open behind them. “You’re clean?”

“And fed and a good deal warmer. My thanks.”

“You made him eat?” This to Aaron, whose smile disappeared when Polly swung her gun sights on him.

“I didn’t have to. The repast was sufficiently enticing on its own.”

Polly rewarded him with a smile. “A fine answer. I’ll take the first shift here, and you can attend your lady wife, who needs more than a few comments regarding your progress in London, my lord.”

“You needn’t be my lording me, Miss Hunt, not on Gabriel’s say so.”

“Don’t give her an inch,” Gabriel warned softly.

Polly put her hands on her hips. “You are in enough trouble.”

“Out of my room, Polonaise,” Gabriel retorted. “I’m not so helpless I need witnesses to any further indignities.”

“Well, I’m leaving.” Aaron backed toward the door. “Miss Hunt has given me my orders, which, like the dutiful, prudent soldier I am, I will heed.” He offered Polly a bow, his brother a smirk, and took his leave.

Polly advanced on the bed. “You can stop pretending now. I know it hurts like blazes, Gabriel, and I’m sorry for it.”

“It isn’t your fault,” he said, smoothing a hand over the comforter. “You really need not hover, Polonaise. Only Aaron knows you’re closeted in here with me, and myself undressed down to my nappies, but the footmen will squawk.”

“Like geese. It’s complicated, having help underfoot. Where did you say that salve was?”

“I’m not telling.” Though he longed for the feel of her strong, competent hands on his person, and for once, not in any sexual sense.

“Ah-hah.” Polly closed the drawer to the night table. “This helps, Gabriel, you know it does.”

“Peace and quiet help,” he grumbled as he shifted onto his stomach.

“So you accomplished little in Town?” Polly sat on the edge of the bed and waited for him to get settled, clearly knowing better than to try to assist him.

“A lawsuit is like a military campaign, I gather.” Gabriel did let her deal with his pillows until he was flat on the mattress, like a day-old filleted herring. “There is endless strategizing and gathering intelligence and planning supply lines and moving cannon into position and so forth. You prepare thoroughly, in hopes you’ll have to skirmish only briefly, with all the casualties on the opposing side.” He fell silent, then couldn’t help an oath of combined pain and relief as Polly’s hands smoothed the salve into his skin.